


XVIII, Paul Sartre's apartments.

by youngjusticewriter



Series: Author's favorites. [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Violet Evergarden (Anime)
Genre: Automail is mentioned to hurt because there seriously isn't enough of that in fics, Canon disabled characters, Child Soldiers, Edward Elric Swears, Gen, Post Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 22:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16752280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjusticewriter/pseuds/youngjusticewriter
Summary: The door opened with a drawn out creak. His eyes (ones that bring Violet to the memory of the feral cat Benedict had taken a likening unto before it stopped coming around) squint up at her despite the glasses adorned on his tanned nose.Her brown leather gloves grab onto the corners of her skirt as she curtsies before the short man, one heeled shoe brought behind the other foot. Violet's blue eyes ('They're like a dolls!' she had often been told or overheard despite the children's whispers.) stay upward in wariness  despite the action. The smell of liquor clings heavy to Mr.Elric as her bangs do to her forehead that is damp in sweat."If the client requests it, we shall go anywhere. Representing the Auto Memoir Doll service, I am Violet Evergarden."





	1. Chapter 1

The heat of the summer sun beats down on her and the buzzing and bubbly crowds of people that she weaves through. The layers of her Auto Memory Doll uniform are nothing compared to carrying supplies when her body was still growing. Now Violet's body has grown, like the plant the Major had gifted her name after, and because of that she can gracefully endure the dress that bears down upon her sweaty skin and the weight of her briefcase she firmly carries with one hand; Violet Evergarden is an Auto Memories Doll - she will run as fast as she can no matter the weather to her customers' destinations. 

When Violet reaches her destination - XVIII, Paul Sartre's apartments - she gently sets down her briefcase on the stained carpet and knocks. The sound of metal agansit wood is different than that of a human's hand. Uneven footsteps could be detected as her client, Mr. Elric, made his way to the door. Her eyes stay forward despite the curiosity the prods her; Mr. Elric, while eccentric and 'furious in temper' (the later being why Mr. Hodgins chose her), was a well in knowledge and begrudging respect in his profession's community. The professor could surely afford a better living arrangements than of this. 

Once again Violet was let piqued in curiosity by those around her that she was always observing from - those she hoped one day would be able to make her comprehend instead of her simply just (only, not enough) conveying emotions unto the clients' intended recipient. 

The door opened with a drawn out creak. His eyes (ones that bring Violet to the memory of the feral cat Benedict had taken a likening unto before it stopped coming around) squint up at her despite the glasses adorned on his tanned nose. 

Her brown leather gloves grab onto the corners of her skirt as she curtsies before the short man, one heeled shoe brought behind the other foot. Violet's blue eyes ('They're like a dolls!' she had often been told or overheard despite the children's whispers.) stay upward in wariness despite the action. The smell of liquor clings heavy to Mr.Elric as her bangs do to her forehead that is damp in sweat. 

"If the client requests it, we shall go anywhere. Representing the Auto Memoir Doll service, I am Violet Evergarden."

Bitter, drunken laughter, like that of the soldiers she fought with - no, for the soldiers she fought for to protect them - she was a weapon, weapons did not fight with men they only were to use by them), fills her ears after her introduction. None the less Mr.Elric allows her in his home that toed line of barren. As her eyes scan the room Violet can not help but think almost barren apartment might be a more accurate reconnaissance than home. The only table in this part of the house (the livingroom was conjoined with the kitchen) was that of the dining room table. Voilet's eyes flickered back to Mr.Elric, her lips became thin at her observation. There would be no work done today with the professor being drunk. 

Violet sat down her briefcase and turned to fully face the short man. With thin lips Violet asks, "Do you have a meal preference? I am not a maid but in the inebriated state which you are in cooking would likely not be something good for you to partake in."

Mr.Elric stares at her, an eyebrow raised above his glasses, however his golden eyes are amused. He mutters something, more like Al than her, before clearly speaking to Violet. "I've already cooked - learnt to years ago. Not all restaurants and inns are crazy about feeding dog or even having one in them." 

Violet stares openly though her head does not tilt in confusion like the animal they speak of would. "Dog?" She repeats in a tone of question for he is not a canine. 

His expression grows into itself, hiding at some realization Violet can not begin to guess. "Means someone who worked for the military."

The way he uttered the word military... it was hatred mixed with longing? 

"I've never been referred to as such," Violet confessed, but before she could further elaborate on her repo- no, further details Mr.Elric interrupted her. 

"This isn't my country." As he speaks Mr.Elric's eyes stare at her - they must see something he doesn't like because his mouth becomes thin too. It was almost as thin as the antenna like piece of hair that stands up on his head. "Why did you join the military kid?"

(For someone who smelled of liquor Mr.Elric did not act as though he was under its influence. Perhaps he had grown a tolerance from experience?) 

There are no words that come to Violet's mind because she had never joined the military. It and war had been all she known ever since Captain Būgenbiria's men had found her at the medical tent - she had been the only to survive though her memories had not done so. That - war and the military - is all she had ever known till Mr. Hodgins had refused to discard her after the war and she had decided that she needed to understand what love was. 

Finally Violet speaks, "I was raised by the military during the war." 

Raised: 

1.) To bring up ones child or children. 

(There are several definitions of the word raised by they matter not with the subject.) 

Was the definition - the word - truly honest for the situation? Violet wonders as memories of her treatment by other soldiers besides that of her Major came to mind. The Major's allies, Captain Būgenbiria, and his men had referred to her as a either weapon, a feral doll, and later hailed her as the Leidenschaftlich's warrior maiden. 

(Only the Major had used her name during those years until they had ran into Hodgins before the final battle.) 

Mr. Elric's mouth twists at her words but says no further words on the matter. "Do you want to rest or do you feel like working on the first letter? If it's the later your room is the left down hall. It's a bit messy by the desk but everything else will work." 

"Are you in enough of coherent state to work, Mr. Elric?"

He let out a bark of laughter at her words. "Nicest way I've heard someone ask if I'm not drunk. Don't worry Evergarden. I only drank enough to numb the pain a bit since the manager still hasn't hired anyone to come fix my air conditioner."

Mr. Elric jerked his head to the table before continuing, "You can set up over there if you like." 

That Violet did. Her skirt pooled against the carpet as she opened the suitcase to pull out the typewriter. After carrying and putting it on the dining room table Violet then fetched the sheets of paper necessary for the task at hand. Last were her gloves that she bit (the fabric of the leather was soft against her teeth) to pull of from her hands. It was the last task that caught Mr. Elric's attention despite the harsh fit coughing he had just finished. 

"Would you prefer my gloves on for the task ahead sir?" Violet asks, pausing from movement at Mr. Elric's scrutiny of her prosthetics; it wouldn't be first time a client preferred not to see the sight of her artificial limbs. 

Some emotion, one Violet could not discern, was lit in his eyes from her question. Mr.Elric shook his head till he could find the words to speak. "You don't ever have to fucking hide it while you're here kid," he vehemently and crudely swore to Violet. "Despite what you've probably been told I'm not an actually asshole. Or one of those pitying types either." 

He looked down at his palms - one a different color than the tan of the other - and said something under his breath before shaking his head with a frown. 

Silence blanketed them heavily for a minute or two after that. Finally Violet spoke, "Recipient and address?" 

And they began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Not to sound like a nagging parent but be thankful that you can eat. There w- are,” Mr.Elric corrects, “some kids who can’t do that, kid.
> 
> “I am not a child.” Violet’s words were short and her tone firm even though the man before her was her client. How odd though. Often Violet had been referred to as weapon, solider, doll, or even machine. Never before had Violet been called a child.
> 
> “Yeah, yeah you are,” the short man disagrees with her before walking towards the small kitchen that resides in the apartment. “And you’re going to eat why you’re under my house. Don’t worry my cooking isn’t crap. I’ve read too many recipe books for it to be.” There’s humor there in his voice as though that was a joke but, like many times before, Violet didn’t understand the joke.

Mr.Elric carries himself with agitation, his footsteps uneven as he walks back and forth across the hot apartment. He’s not annoyed at her - no, he is in such a state because he cannot convey what he feels - though that (a client annoyed) sometimes hasn’t stopped them from taking their anger onto Violet one way or another. Mr.Elric neither speaks unkindly on her or attempt to lay a finger on her despite the latter being why Mr. Hodgins had sent her out of all the dolls. No, the man paces back and forth as though he was an animal trapped in a cage too small for its size. 

Violet watches silently, her blue eyes unblinking as they follow the ever-moving short man. It’s not the alcohol he drank earlier that makes him unable to properly put to words what he wants to be said. He’s too coherent (which suggests he had experience of often drinking it) and observant with those cat-like eyes of his for that to be the reason why. Perhaps it’s Violet herself? When he looks at her there’s this tight expression on his face as though somehow she was causing him pain that he wants more of. 

Many of the time in the army Violet had been looked upon by hungry eyes. Major had often protected her in the rare occasions over the years when soldiers were more stupid and drowning in desire than they were afraid of the deaths her hands had brought to their enemies - the death she could easily bestow upon them. Mr.Elric does not look upon her in such a light though. Perhaps it was because earlier she had taken off her gloves? After the war that had taken her arms, people looked upon- 

Violet’s thoughts were interrupted by Mr.Elric letting out a sigh before running a hand through his hair. The antenna-like piece of his hair popped right back up once his palm went further into his scalp. “You can eat if you want,” he offers, finally having stopped pacing. “I’ve made more than enough for two.” 

“I can go without eating but thank you for the offer. Do you wish to continue or shall we attempt again tomorrow after you come back from the college you lecture at?” 

Mr.Elric snorts at her but there was something in his expression but it closed in on itself before Violet could even attempt to put a name to it. “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. Not to sound like a nagging parent but be thankful that you can eat. There w- are,” Mr.Elric corrects, “some kids who can’t do that, kid. 

“I am not a child.” Violet’s words were short and her tone firm even though the man before her was her client. How odd though. Often Violet had been referred to as weapon, solider, doll, or even machine. Never before had Violet been called a child. 

“Yeah, yeah you are,” the short man disagrees with her before walking towards the small kitchen that resides in the apartment. “And you’re going to eat why you’re under my house. Don’t worry my cooking isn’t crap. I’ve read too many recipe books for it to be.” There’s humor there in his voice as though that was a joke but, like many times before, Violet didn’t understand the joke. 

“I do not have to stay in your apartment while I am your personal auto memory doll,” Violet points out. “I am more than capable of renting a room at a nearby hotel which would have-“ 

Violet cannot see him but she can easily hear the laughter that fills the apartment. After Mr.Elric finished laughing, he says something but the words are spoken too softly for even Violet to discern them. A minute later, Mr.Elric came to the dining room table with a plate that was littered with different kinds of food for her to eat despite her denial of not having a need to eat.

“Change seats so you don’t have to move that typewriter and the rest of your stuff,” he orders and Violet does so even though Violet had been trained during the war to not eat as much as her current co-workers did. She did not need to eat yet still the short man that was her client fretted. Perhaps once she did as he wished (just this once) he would be open to attempting to again. 

Once she has changed seats he puts the plate before her and Violet did not thank him for it. 

“If you eat that I’ll actually share a slice of the apple pie I bought.” The way Mr.Elric said that implies he often did not share pie or perhaps even food in general...yet why would he be shoving food before her if the later was in fact true? Her confusion on his action must show on her face because Mr.Elric speaks then. 

“Be glad it’s me and not Alphonse whose feeding you.” Alphonse, Violet recalls, was the recipient. “He would nag you about your health and sass you if you talked back.” 

The smile Mr.Elric gives at the thought of his brother being here is too full of teeth, too sharp. (It’s too broken.) 

Reluctantly, Violet begins to eat. It’s for her job, not for the bribery of pie or the fact Mr.Elric missing his brother reminded Violet of the person she too had lost. (That looking Mr.Elric meant seeing the wound he carried in himself which reminded Violet of the festering one she carried with her ever since the war.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I like this chapter but it's better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> * I'm marking this as completed for now but there's a good chance I probably will write more ...eventually. 
> 
> * Yes, just in case you were thinking it, this was previously posted before but I took it down because I felt like I could make it longer. 
> 
> * Also I am so happy I could finish this third and final draft. Because of personal reasons I put fanfiction on the backburner but then I've been attempting to write (I have prompts I need to fill and a late promised chapter I haven't even written) the last few days but I just haven't been able because it's like stress had spoiled my writing. 
> 
> * Kudos to the person who gets the references.


End file.
